


Sweet Surrender

by Kawaiicoyote



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And I really just want Peter to rub that amazing goatee between my legs, Biting, Cunnilingus, Dom!Peter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Genital Piercing, Handcuffs, I have a lot of Pydia feels okay?!, I have a thing for beards, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Orgasm Control, PWP, Restraints, Seduction, Spanking, Sub!Lydia, Submission, Teasing, Vibrator, breast slapping, shameless smut with fluffy ending, stop judging me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/pseuds/Kawaiicoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His face is set, giving away no emotion to Lydia. He points to the spot between his feet and then a slow sly grin split his features. An excited chill shoots up Lydia’s spine. “Crawl.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I read a work not too long ago (it was a Therapist!Peter Stiles/Peter fic) and it gave me all kinds of Dom!Peter feels. This is the result.

Nervous energy thrums through Lydia when she steps into the empty house. The late afternoon sun bathes the entryway and living room in deep blood reds and golds. For such an inviting space she feels out of odds and overly nervous.

She drops her purse next to the door and toes off her flats and then pads her way further inside, shivering at the cold hardwood floor underneath her bare feet.

Glancing at the clock she knows she may be early but she doesn’t have too much time to doddle.

With a breath to expel her nerves she makes her way to the back of the ranch style house, to the master bedroom, and quickly gets into the shower.

***

Lydia is toweling off her hair, wearing nothing but the pale blue silk robe that hangs on the back of the bathroom door just for her, when she steps into the bedroom and pauses seeing she isn’t alone.

Peter shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair, his eyes never once leaving Lydia, a grin set on his face.

“You’re early m’dear.” He drawls with a chuckle, his fingers deftly and slowly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him the way Lydia’s eyes follow the movement or the way she licks her lips, or how her face tinges pink.

She nods and lets the towel she was drying her hair with drop to the ground at her feet.

“Take off the robe, Lydia.” His command is a soft purr that wraps around her mind and makes her inner muscles clench. She tugs the loosely tied sash of the robe undone and shrugs out of the body warmed silk. It soundlessly slides to the floor and pools around her feet.

Peter makes and appreciative noise, his icy blue eyes sweeping over her form from head to foot, making heat blossom in her cheeks. It’s nothing new what they’re doing, but Lydia never gets over the way Peter looks at her. Like she’s the rarest gem anyone could ever have.

“Down,” the command snaps her out of her thoughts and immediately Lydia sinks to her knees. On autopilot she keeps her gaze down, her legs spread just a bit, and curled palms against the tops of her thighs.

Her eyes itch to look at Peter when she hears him walking towards her, but she keeps her gaze down. The only thing she can see of him are his bare feet, briefly before he moves to walk a slow circle around her.

She hears the soft fall of fabric hit the floor somewhere close to her and without looking she assumes it’s his shirt he’d been unbuttoning. She feels fingertips petting her still damp hair, fondly and gently, as he circles her. She sighs and her eyes fall closed, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

When he completely the circle around her he moves away, Lydia bites the inside of cheek to keep her disappointment unheard.

With her eyes still downcast she can hear him walk over to the bed, the carpet muting Peter’s footsteps. She hears the bed creak slightly when sits down on the edge.

“Lydia,” Peter croons to her and with being acknowledged she lifts her head to look at him, eyes wide and hopeful, anxious already for his next command.  His face is set, giving away no emotion to Lydia. He points to the spot between his feet and then does a slow sly grin split his features. An excited chill shoots up Lydia’s spine. “Crawl.”

His voice is like velvet, even with the short and simple command. It makes her ache, makes her want to touch herself but she knows she not allowed to, not unless he says she can. She bites back a whimper and slowly sinks forward, down onto all floors and begins to slink across the carpet.

When she reaches him, he crooks his finger under her chin and nudges her up until she’s on her knees again. Her heartbeat rivals a hummingbird’s as he leans forward and then his lips on hers. It’s just a soft press, nothing more, before he’s pulling back and urging her to turn and sit in front of him.

Her eyes stare straight ahead, focusing on the sliding closet door. One side is slightly ajar and it bugs her. She hates when the doors don’t get closed all the way.

She keeps focused on the door so she won’t be too tempted to turn around and look to see what Peter is doing. She can still hear and feel him shift behind her, but the distraction proves well.

The feeling of the brush in her hair makes her jilt, just the tiniest, before she’s relaxing with a sigh, her eyes closed and a soft hum escaping her parted lips.

The gentle tug and scrap of the brush against her scalp is calming. She loves it when Peter does this, as odd as it is to see his gentle charming side during their play.

When the brush tugs on a tiny tangle in her damp hair Lydia hisses and winces. Peter leans forward and kisses the top of her head in apology then continues brushing. It makes her smile and even without seeing his face she knows there’s a smile on his face.

Before long Lydia assumes that Peter has deemed her hair tangle free by the way he stops the relaxing brushing, and hears the plastic of the handle being set on the nightstand. A moment later Peter is gently pulling her head back and tying it tightly in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Time to play.

She’s unsurprised when Peter’s arm slides around her shoulders and he leans forward to nuzzle behind her ear, his chest presses against her back and she bites her lip to stifle a pleased whimper, the soft scrape of his chest hair tickling her back just the slightest bit. She shivers when his teeth find and clamp down on the fleshy lobe of her ear, careful of the diamond stud.

“Stand,” He says quietly, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. She pouts, not wanting to move away from the warmth his bare chest is giving just yet. He gives her no other option as his arm drops away from her and he leans back, away from her, leaving her back chilled.

Reluctantly she rises from her spot on the floor but doesn’t move any further or turn to face him. He chuckles behind her. Her fingers curl loosely into fists in annoyance.

Annoyance which quickly fades as soon as Peter’s open land lands quick and hard against the round swell of her ass cheek.

“Don’t pout at me.” Peter growls at her and he too rises from his spot on the bed. Lydia swallows hard and lowers her gaze to ground.

She hears him opening a drawer, and she _knows_ which drawer. It’s their play drawer. Instantly she’s a bundle of anxious, excited, nerves again.

His hands around her wrists startle her a bit but she doesn’t look behind her. And when she feels them being pulled back she knows all too well what is about to happen.

The metal of the handcuffs is cold, a stark contrast of the heat of her skin. It makes goosebumps rise along her arms. Peter slowly closes them, the clink of them echoing around in her head until they’re completely snug and bite into the tender skin of her wrists. She gives an experimental tug and as expected, there is no give.

Peter hooks his index finger around the short chain and tug backwards. Lydia’s arms protest at the movement but she stays still until she stumbles back just the tiniest bit when Peter pulls back a bit too far for her arms to find comfortable. He chuckles at her and drops the chain, her hands settle against the small of her back again.

She hears him move back to _the drawer_ and after another moment can hear a loud distinct buzzing. Lydia’s inner muscles clench tightly and heat pools between her thighs.

Peter’s feet appear in her line of sight. His fingers lift her chin until their gazes meet. Peter is grinning wickedly at her.

She glances down and heat flares through her.

He’s holding the wand and it’s still buzzing and Lydia wants it on her _now_. Peter clears his throat and her eyes snap back up to his.

He steps forward and with his foot he nudges her feet, widening her stance, and exposes her sex better to him.

“Not a word, not a sound,” He warns with his velvety soft voice. “That that understood?”

Lydia nods only to give a yelp when she receives a sharp slap to her breast, stinging warmth blossoming where Peter’s hand had been.

“Yes, sir.” She corrects herself and Peter makes an approving noise. The buzzing of the wand is brought to her full attention again when Peter raises it and shivers in anticipation, but frowns when he doesn’t go anywhere near her sex.

“So impatient.” He murmurs voice full of amusement. He brings the vibrating devices close to her skin and lightly presses. Lydia sucks in a breath but obeys him and doesn’t make any sound.

He leisurely moves the wand to the middle of her stomach, slides it to her navel, to her hip bones. He pauses when he moves it lower, right against her pubic bone but makes no other movement to go lower.

Her eyes clamp tight and her hands ball into fists with the effort it takes to remain unmoving. She wants to whine and gasp and buck her hips into the delicious vibration. But she knows that if she does then Peter will either stop or punish her, and she wants neither of those to happen.

Peter grins when he moves the want upwards and presses it against the swell of her breast then to her nipple. Lydia’s eyes fly open, unable to contain the gasp at the feeling. He immediately removes it from her, stopping all stimulation, which draws a frustrated noise from Lydia.

Instead of reprimanding her however he reaches forward and lightly presses his index finger to the middle of her chest, urging her backwards. She obeys and carefully takes the few short steps until the ends of the bed meets the back of her knees.

Peter gives her a wolfish grin and, almost playfully, pushes her down onto the bed. She falls less than gracefully with a squeak of surprise, landing heavily on her arms and hands. The position is awkward and the bones in her arms grind unpleasantly but she stays absolutely still, her breath catching in her throat when Peter sinks to his knees between her spread legs.

His hands lay hot and heavy, kneeding her inner thighs, pressing them apart further, leaving her splayed and exposed and vulnerable just for his eyes to see. She blushes brightly, her breathing already shallow and ragged from anticipation for what’s to come next.

Lydia can hear Peter’s deep rasping chuckle then gasps when she feels the light scratch of her goatee against the tender skin of her thigh. She whimpers and moves to draw her legs together, to trap his head and keep it there, but his grip is steady and unwavering.

He presses close as he can, nosing against the moist heat of her core. His tongue flick against her, just enough for her to feel it, she whines and cants her hips up.

“Please, Peter, please,” Her plea falls from her lips, her thighs quaking with need. Peter chastises her by turning his head and bites roughly into the fleshiness of her inner thigh. Lydia tenses then stills, Peter kisses the hurt away before his lips latch on and sucks relentlessly until her skin marks bright red, a deep blue-black already tinting the edges of the mark. His thumb rubs over it slowly, drawn out, appreciatively. Lydia shudders and tries not to squirm.

Only when he’s satisfied with his handiwork he’s left on his lovers skin does he move, his lips brushing gentle, tenderly sweet kisses upwards. His tongue slides, a long hot stripe up the crease of her thigh until he meets the beginnings of her hipbone.

“Please,” Lydia dares to gasp out, eyes wide and unfocused, trained upwards to the textured ceiling. Peter growls, moving both his hands to cup behind her knees and shoves them forward. She squeaks, blushing crimson when he holds her in the position.

His grip on the back of his knees is brutal; with enough pressure that the both of them know tomorrow morning there will be tiny little bruises. The thought isn’t exactly a turnoff for either of them. He has her legs splayed wide, enough to flirt with the line of pain. She’s completely exposed to his gaze and it ignites heat low in her belly and makes her inner muscles contract.

When he leans forward again she gasps in surprise. His teeth carefully capture the tiny metal adornment, something Peter had talked her into getting on her eighteenth birthday. For as much pain as it caused her, when he gives the tiniest tug and then sucks it briefly into his mouth, she thinks it was completely worth it.

Peter releases the metal with an obscene smack before he’s leaning back in, his tongue sweeping and lapping over her studded clit relentlessly, his fingers digging into her thighs and holding them steady. Giving her no time at all to adjust to the onslaught of sensation he spears his tongue and wastes no time, deviling it as deep inside as he can manage.

The muscle laps at her wall, slides in and out of her, fucking her at a slow drawn out pace that has a sheen of sweat springing to her skin and leaves her breathless, the sensation only heightened by Peter’s moist breath puffing hotly against her.

Peter is relentless in his ministrations, never easing up only quickening, hands like a vice as they keep her splayed open to him.

She’s a squirming panting mess beneath him. Her chest heaves and her body trembles. Heat prickles along her skin and fire flickers low in her belly, a low flame that tightens like a spring. His name falls from her mouth in a praising mantra, breathless and raspy as she twists and thrashes, the stimulation becoming too overwhelming.

It quickly reaches a breaking point when Peter shifts, his coarse goatee scraping against her sensitive flesh, and then he’s biting down on her studded clit while sliding two fingers inside of her without warning.

A strangled cry rips free from her throat as she comes undone at the seams. Her back bows and her legs quake, Peter bites down harder, then sucks the body warmed metal into his mouth viciously.  Lydia sobs and tries to twist away from him, only to have his delicious stubble rub against her, sending spikes of pained pleasure straight through her. The world goes black around the edges and the only thing she can hear is the roaring of her pulse in her ears.

When everything comes back into focus she’s on her side. She feels Peter’s hands gently sliding down her arms and a moment later her hands are freed from their confines. Lydia can’t help the groan of relief.

Peter scoops Lydia up from the end of the bed and moves her farther up and crawls in with her. After he tucks her under the covers his arms circle lovingly around her and he kisses the top of her head while carefully tugging her hair from its messy ponytail.

He reaches then and brings her hands up, his thumbs rub soothingly over the bright agitated welts where the cuffs bit into her skin too tightly but he’s relived to see there won’t be much evidence of it by morning.

“You were so good for me today, Lydia.” Peter murmurs against her hair and she sighs, her eyes beginning to slip closed. He chuckles and lets her turn and tucks her close to his chest, his fingertip running along her back.

“Don’t you want the favor returned?” Her voice is hoarse but soft and he smiles at that. He shakes his head and continues petting down her back.

“No, tonight was about you. Rest now.”

Lydia makes a sleepy nod and settles more against his chest with a sigh.

He watches her sleep, knowing by the steady thrum of her heart.

He thinks he could watch her sleep all night, if only to make sure that she is real and won’t disappear if he blinks.

So he does.

He watches her sweet peaceful sleep as she sleeps until the first rays of sun stream warm golden light through the curtains. Only then, satisfied that she’ll still be there when he wakes, does he let himself surrender to slumber.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *twiddles thumbs* Kudos and comments are like mana to me!


End file.
